A.N.: This story is pretty brutal, the last third of this prologue is particularly unpleasant and describes gore and death in reasonable detail. There is also a trigger warning for brief mentions of suicide. Do not read if The Walking Dead's canonical depictions of violence are not your cup of tea.

This is definitely one of my more ambitious projects. This section is particularly strange, because it starts out in past tense then fluctuates towards the end, which is meant to highlight the protagonist's state of mind at the time. The rest of the story will be in present tense because the effect just took too much effort to keep going.

My eternal gratitude to romantiscue who helped me with the eighth or so draft of this. *Le sigh*

Primal

There are many things I regret in life, but I never thought that screaming at a TV or laptop screen would rank up there on my list of sins. Because I know now, no matter how long I survive this place, that uttering the words 'I could totally do better during a zombie apocalypse' was a very bad idea. Like, right up there with invading Russia in the winter on the collective list of bad ideas.

But I digress. I should start at the beginning.

It began with falling. Or perhaps it started with bright light- pure white light. Like the flare of lit magnesium burning into my eye sockets before the intensity faded, but not the shock.

I was not home, or in my world at all, but a blank expanse which I inhabited like an ink blot upon an otherwise untouched canvas.

Except I was not alone. There was something with me, although it only communicated through text. Black-rimmed white using the sterile world like one giant monitor, the text softly pulsing, like the old DOS format. It was not comforting in the slightest, though for all I knew it was aiming for nostalgia.

PLAY A GAME?

[YES/NO?]

As this felt too solid to be a dream, too terrifying to be something I could wake up from, I approached the text, my hand hovering over the 'no' option. I paused, checking behind the words, expecting to see a screen of some kind, a socket, anything.

There wasn't even an inversion of the letters. When I waved my hand at the blank space the words should be, I felt nothing. Moving so I was on the 'rim' of front and back, I tried again. My hand disappeared and did not emerge on the other side. The words continued to pulse softly and patiently, not at all negating their sinister, Saw-esque nature.

I slapped the negative and waited after the message vanished leaving me with nothing. And waited. And waited.

The nothingness found me stumbling through that blank expanse for an immeasurable time, trying to find my way out to no avail, unable to even find a landmark to differentiate between floor and ceiling and the blankness in between. I could have walked into a wall or fallen down a hole and I'd never have known before it happened.

Everything was white nothingness, so much so that my own doubt and fear became tangible, the hitching of my breath deafening in my ears. My own hands, as they pushed my hair back or rubbed clamminess off onto the denim of my jeans, were electrifying over-stimulation. I cast no shadows and my screams for help did not echo but were instead swallowed.

Eventually, after what felt like an eternity of fearful crying frustration, of shouting my throat raw and trying without success to find a door, an interface, anything- the text came back and I almost broke at the sight of it.

Elation. Fear. Rage. Too much. I had to plant my hands on my knees, bend over, breathe, before I could clear my mind and the tears from my eyes. I had never been happier to see something in my entire life and that terrified me. Whatever this thing was it wasn't friendly, yet what choice did I have but to cooperate with it?

PLAY A GAME?

The text pulsed mockingly as I struggled to breathe normally.

[YES/NO?]

With a shaking hand I selected 'yes', because something was better than nothing, surely.

(I was not as realistic then as I am now.)

YOU HAVE CHOSEN TO PLAY [THE WALKING DEAD]!

A hysterical laugh bubbled up out of my throat, because this was just my luck, really.

PLEASE INSERT YOUR NAME, AGE, AND DATE OF BIRTH.

A keyboard, black letters against white pure enough to make the dearly departed Steve Jobs cry, appeared below the text. Inputting false information, I hit 'enter'.

INVALID DETAILS. PLEASE TRY AGAIN.

My bio had been perfectly believable, I hadn't said I was male, given myself a humorous pseudonym, or fibbed about my age too badly. It knew me, which was terrifying, yet the fact that it made me jump through these hoops regardless was even worse. Who did something like that? A machine. A sadist. Bureaucracy incarnate. All of the above.

Several attempts confirmed that yes, it wouldn't let me proceed until I had fulfilled it's very exacting standards.

WELCOME TO THE ALL NEW GAMING EXPERIENCE [Katherine Connor] WHICH MODE WOULD YOU LIKE TO PLAY?

[EASY/NORMAL/HARD/HELLISH?]

Reading through the list carefully for a trap, I selected 'easy' and let out the air I'd been holding when it allowed me that option. Of course, how could I tell the difference between the levels? Maybe it would send me into the hell mode and I'd be none the wiser. Maybe 'easy' was the hardest level and 'hellish' the easiest.

I couldn't afford to think like that. I'd turn myself mad. If I wasn't already that is.

WOULD YOU LIKE TO ALTER YOUR PRESET?

{Display preset} I typed in, my fingers fumbling on the keys in a manner they hadn't in years.

An image of my body appeared to the side, at a slight angle to the 'screen' on my right hand side. Next to it there were several statistics displayed on another sheet of text. Slowly, screen by screen, I was blocked in until I stood in a circle of holographic projections next to my avatar.

Be pragmatic. I reminded myself. Take your time, it obviously doesn't care about any kind of schedule or it wouldn't have let you wander around here for so long earlier just to put you on edge. Just stay calm.

The keyboard and master display had been helpfully added to the circle of screens. {Does the preset affect stats/storyline, etc.?}

YES.

Beyond that succinct response, I couldn't get anything out of the computer, or whatever it was.

So I spent a while fiddling with the arrows and toggles on the screens surrounding my mirror image and seeing what effects they produced. Aesthetic micro-managing like this was one of my favourite RPGs was actually soothing, even though I had to think smart and not just choose what looked nice.

My long brown hair was traded for an ultra short pixie cut, skin darkened a few shades to better withstand the sun as olive rather than milk-pale, I lost my curves and shrunk my bosom until it was barely there, becoming boyish and hopefully faster on my feet. I even changed the shape of my hands, lengthening the fingers until they were better suited for wrapping around things, like baseball bats and gun triggers, better even for the jam jars I had historically struggled with.

Sharp lines and hard angles, the avatar looked almost nothing like myself any more.

In the end, only the eyes were still the same, the warm dark brown I'd been born with. So I changed those too, choosing a whimsical shade of sea green as their replacement. If I could have changed my name I would have, anything to distance myself from being me in a zombie apocalypse. Maybe I'd give everyone I met an alias and put on an accent as well.

Drama was so much fun back in high school, and it was so much easier to act out a part if you really immersed yourself in the role. Until a better premise presented itself, that role would be titled 'someone who is practical and capable in her approach towards a zombie apocalypse'. Theoretically I'd already survived the destruction of all humanity several times over, but this was far removed from brainstorming with strangers on public forums.

When I looked back at my stat screen after my in depth tweaking, I was disappointed to see that I hadn't upped my existing numbers by more than a couple of points. My constitution had actually dropped two points and dexterity one, although I still bagged a net gain with five across speed, charisma and endurance for some reason. I had tried to add muscles to my avatar but it seemed that while things taking away and aesthetic alteration was possible, adding anything completely new was off the table. My dreams of being taller died as well but I tried not to focus on the negative (ha!) as I read over my stats list.

Strength: 8

Dexterity: 9

Endurance: 10

Speed: 12

Constitution: 10

Charisma: 15

Intelligence: 14

Wisdom: 16

If this was anything like Dungeons and Dragons or similarly structured video games then I could already tell that anything below 10 was deficient. Barbarians were the only ones with under 10 intelligence (and they have difficulty speaking beyond monosyllables), mages with less than 10 strength have difficulty opening heavy doors, etc. While I knew I wasn't that bad I was now worried that the 'game' would make me deficient. Seeing a multitude of my characteristics tallied up in front of me also made me feel very self-conscious.

I thought I was smarter than that, stronger and healthier than that. How can 'Wisdom' be my defining trait if I continue to make such bad decisions in life? Sure, I look before I leap, agonise over every possibility, but I've got a nasty habit of jumping even if I know the landing's rough. Sometimes especially then.

I almost didn't notice when I stepped into an unfamiliar body, the clothes and shoes I was wearing altering to fit me as well as they had before, which was to say, off the rack and a little too long in the leg.

ROLL? The computer interrupted my train of thought as I held up my new hands which were now unrecognisable as being mine.

{What do you mean by 'roll'?} I queried with the keyboard, those new longer fingers fumbling until I found a new rhythm.

ROLL FOR ADDITIONAL STAT POINTS?

I breathed a sigh of relief before responding. {Yes.}

Is this the only differing factor between the other game modes? Will I also be dropped in a safe zone, start out with equipment, or a group? Could I rig the system for God-Mode? Set up a safe-house that kills any walkers that try to get in with traps, or diverts them somewhere else? I don't know if this 'game' is going to be like the TV show, comics, video game, or be set in an entirely unfamiliar reality. Is it even going to be set in the same country or time frame?

Meanwhile, the computer trundled away. ROLLING... YOU HAVE ROLLED: 14. DO YOU WISH TO SAVE THIS ROLL?

{Yes.}

ROLL AGAIN?

{Yes.}

After three saves the force behind all this stopped me from holding a number in reserve, but I eventually managed to snag an even higher roll than my last save which I leapt at lest I lose it for good.

Twenty-six. If I were playing Baulder's Gate, or NeverWinter Nights, I'd be overjoyed at the number. These little digits were supposed to keep me alive however and I couldn't waste them with frivolous dumps, especially since this set-up wasn't typical in classic gaming, eight stats instead of the usual six. This is more like one of the older Elder Scrolls games than a D&D based stat page, even if a lot of the attribute names coincide...

I spent forever spending the points, although despite my best efforts I couldn't subtract anything from my base stats at all. A pity because Charisma was such a Bard thing...

Strength: 8 (+5)

Dexterity: 9 (+7)

Endurance: 10 (+6)

Speed: 12 (+3)

Constitution: 10 (+5)

Charisma: 15

Intelligence: 14

Wisdom: 16

When I finally gave my consent to progress, the numbers aligned as intended for a brief moment

Strength: 13

Dexterity: 16

Endurance: 16

Speed: 15

Constitution: 15

Charisma: 15

Intelligence: 14

Wisdom: 16

before vanishing.

But... I don't feel any different. I thought, disappointed despite all encroaching horror. Aren't I supposed to feel some kind of change, become better prepared?

SELECT PERKS.

My melancholy distracted, I allowed a brief flare of hope to fill me. That was before I saw the sheer range of perk options and the number of ranks for each.

YOU HAVE [5/5] PERK POINTS TO SPEND.

How could black on white text in such an innocuous font carry that level of smug condensation and unholy glee? Perhaps it couldn't. There were a lot of things that could have just been in my head.

(There are a lot of things in my head I never want to stop to examine.)

Five points to spend, but almost every category I wanted to select had at least five ranks, some had ten, others had fifteen. It was worrying how many of them were locked as well, would I need to do something special to get to them, or would they open up on their own as I progressed?

There was no perk called 'immunity' or 'god-mode' or 'never attracts danger'. Almost everything was a skill that could be acquired in the real world, with a few more that would imitate popular game set-ups involving things like world maps, night vision and faster healing.

I chose with care, debating with myself until I barely knew what to think, reading and rereading the scant descriptions and writing short lists on a blank screen provided and then putting those choices through a brutal process of elimination, pitting the strengths and weaknesses of every perk against two or three of its kin. As far as academic exercises went, it was a battle royale.

Bonus Melee (5%, 10%, 20%, 40%, 80% more damage with melee weapons) (1/5)

Dead Sense (Detect the living dead at 10, 20, 40, 80, 160 metres) (1/5)

First-Aider (Know everything a first-aider should, including how to deal with simple injuries, medical conditions and how to keep patients stable until more knowledgeable help arrives) (1/1) UNLOCKED PERK: MEDIC

Sure Shot (Projectiles are 20%, 40%, 60%, 80%, 100% more likely to hit their mark) (1/5)

Toughness (Reduce physical damage by 7%, 14%, 21%, 28%, 35%, 42%, 49%, 56%, 63%, 70%) (1/10)

I stared at the accumulated final list before confirming my decision. Some perks, like Bonus Melee and Toughness, I picked because maxing out the perks would produce impressive results. First-Aider was essential and also unlocked Medic (which would in turn unlock Doctor, and so on and so forth), there were few careers more sought after in a post apocalyptic world than a medical professional anyway. Dead-Sense also needed to be built up, but was completely essential in my mind.

Biting my lip, I hit the large 'ACCEPT' button and was immediately assaulted by more text announcements.

GAIN 10 EXP FOR EVERY DAWN YOU LIVE TO SEE, GAIN MORE THROUGH COMBAT AND QUESTS

HALF EXP FOR INCAPACTATED WALKERS

COLLECT SKILL BOOKS AND ADVICE FROM OTHER SURVIVORS TO GAIN POINTS OR UNLOCK HIDDEN PERKS

ALLOCATE ONE PERK POINT EVERY LEVEL

ROLL FOR SKILL POINTS (1-5) EVERY THIRD LEVEL

CURRENT LEVEL: 1

EXP: 0/100

GEAR: NONE.

WOULD YOU LIKE TO SELECT GEAR?

The laugh that burst out of my mouth was harsh and dry. Did it really think I wanted to walk into a hostile situation with only a set of house keys to defend myself with?

{Yes, I would like to select my gear.}

BECAUSE YOU CHOSE [EASY] MODE YOU MAY SELECT [UNLIMITED] GEAR.

I shrieked elatedly. Yes! I thought. There's so much I know that's going to help me-

WOULD YOU LIKE TO PLAY A TUTORIAL SIMULATION NOW TO UNLOCK [UNLIMITED] GEAR? YOU CANNOT UNLOCK ANY GEAR WITHOUT PLAYING MINIMAL TUTORIAL SIMULATIONS.

After reading through the notices several times to try and find the catch I typed {Yes.}.

Suddenly, like the proverbial rug had been pulled out from beneath my feet, I was thrown backwards with great force.

Someone flooded the canvas with ink and it swallowed me whole.

"Oh my god- ohmygodohmygodohmygod-"

I can't breathe. Why can't I breathe? Realising the gasping pleas tumbling out of my mouth are to blame, I clamp my hands over my mouth, dropping to the ground to rock back and forth on the balls of my feet. I don't blink, I can't afford being blind for even a second, and my eyes are already burning with the strain.

There is blood on my shirt and its stench is rancid and catching in the back of my throat. I have already thrown up twice, once after the first time I was eaten alive.

I shot myself in the head when they started on me the second time.

'Tutorials'. Tutorials are supposed to be easy, a way to get to know a game's controls. In Tekken 3 the practice mode player characters were invincible and you could set the level that your opponent could play at, even if it was a level zero stationary manikin to practice kicks and punches on. There was no helpful settings that stopped zombies from killing me here. Ergo, this is not a game.

And there are zones in the tutorials, I can't leave the room, building, or occasionally the small area I find myself in with every new instance. Nowhere to run, so few places to hide. A field of corn, a ransacked shopping mall, a dilapidated gas station- wherever the boundaries are I can't ever escape them.

More than once I experienced the desire to flee into a copse of trees, or hide under an abandoned car, only to find myself smacking into an invisible boundary, potential sanctuary just within sight yet completely unreachable.

The Computer tells me so little during these kill-box instances, the objectives seem tacked on if anything- find object X, get from point A to B, remain hidden from walkers, collect medical supplies, food, fuel- all without being caught by the walkers that are everywhere I look.

The first tutorial mission was just an empty room. In my hand I clutched a kitchen knife didn't remember picking up, there was a walker stumbling towards me and all the doors and windows were barred.

What an impossible scenario! I thought as I screamed and slashed at the corpse trying to eat me. It's just so unrealistic!

Holding the zombie by the shirt collar, I braced my arm against its collarbone as I drove the knife through an eye socket, the blade skittering away twice because the thing kept moving and the cuts opened up more lacerations that smelled even more rank than its already gaping wounds.

Before I could check the room for usable gear (oh, who was I kidding? I wanted to have a break down), I was looking at a block of text telling me I had two stars out of a possible five and that it had taken points off for screaming and using the weapon provided to kill the walker.

REPLAY?

[YES/NO?]

I hit 'no' and it only got worse from there really.

Rest came with those screens, although I am never allowed to keep the 'Game' frozen for long, small reprieves are all that keep me clinging to sanity. I regenerate when the credits roll after each mission. If I don't win and they aren't on a timer I stay in one frozen moment until- until... it all happens again.

There were thirty combat tutorials. I was bitten twelve times. Towards the end, the harder levels, after I heard all the impossibilities that were expected of me, I just raised the gun to my temple, the blade to my throat, and ended it.

I prefer guns, guns are quick and clean and herald the game over screen faster than the knife ever does. With the knife there is always a few moments before I fall unconscious, where the swarm clawed and bit at me- blood gets them very excited.

YOU HAVE COMPLETED YOUR BASIC COMBAT BASED TUTORIALS the computer informs me YOUR COMPETANCY RATING IS 21%. IN ORDER TO PROGRESS TO [INTERMEDIATE COMBAT BASED] TUTORIALS YOU NEED TO SCORE 51%-100%. WOULD YOU LIKE TO REPLAY ANY LEVELS NOW?

[YES/NO]?

I hit 'NO' three times before it even registers my choice, my franticness causing the system to lag.

LOADING... LOADING... LOADING...

STEALTH TUTORIAL SCENARIO 1/15 LOADED. SNEAK PAST OR KILL ALL ENEMIES SILENTLY TO GAIN THE MOST POINTS.

GOOD LUCK!

I lose the first stealth tutorial outright because I can't stop screaming.

Eventually, I learn to work through the pain and confusion and all consuming terror, batten down the hatches in my mind and make everything sit pretty in little white boxes.

(Every time I close my eyes I feel like I'm back there, like the white seared itself into my sockets and won't go, won't leave. Everything is a prelude to more pain, and terror, and failure which only heralds more of the same.)

I don't tire, but I am so tired, and for a small eternity there was no end in sight. After a while, it's like I just shut down, my emotions deaden while my body and reptilian brain step in to pick up the slack.

My percentages rise, although I am still slow off the mark and don't assimilate new information quickly. There are no directions in gun or blade wielding, or how to use the environment to my advantage, but I pick up a few things, eventually.

The scoreboard stares back at me and my face is blank, my limbs are heavy and my mind is floating away. It has been 47 hours and I have not needed to sustenance or sleep but my mind still needs rest. The Computer won't let me rest.

17%, 32%, 54%, 71%...

Everything is quantified by numbers, my triumphs and failures, my worth.

Combat. Stealth. Scavenging. Survival. Miscellaneous.

I am losing all sense of time, lost all sense of time. I'm not sure if I'm here if it I died, because I have died, I remember dying. But I'm alive. Or I was.

The Computer would let me go, let me pass, but when I was at the lower end of the spectrum leaving would mean I didn't get to choose my gear, or I would only get basic or substandard gear. Or none at all. Maybe, who knows, it's not clear, it doesn't explain anything and I have to extrapolate. I think it likes to watch me think myself in knots.

So I kept going, I replayed, so that everything up until that point actually meant something. Was worth going through hell for.

I learn a few things from calling out random game commands. About the only ones that had no effect were 'stop' or 'pause'. I learn the rules just as well as I learned the unfeeling hunger of the walkers, my own fears and limits and eventually my strengths.

It was 94 hours before my scores shone back at me like a beacon of salvation. (There is a timer almost out of sight at the top right side of every information screen and it mocks me.)

CONGRATULATIONS! YOU HAVE COMPLETED ALL AVAILABLE TUTORIALS WITH 100% EFFECTIVENESS!

YOU HAVE EARNED THE BADGE: OVERACHIEVER!

I wait for something more, some perk or special item, scrap of knowledge or clue to help me out. There is nothing. The text hangs as gaudy and useless as an Xbox trophy ever has.

WOULD YOU LIKE TO SELECT GEAR?

[YES/NO]?

Tears are steaming down my face as I hit 'yes' and I cry when the white space returns because it is the only time since this nightmare started that I haven't been hurt.

According to one of the floating timers, it takes me seven hours of wandering that blank space, now filled with shelves and racks, boxes and vehicles, to decide upon all my gear.

I cannot drive, so I select a bicycle and outfit it with every saddlebag and case it can carry. I fill these and a sturdy military backpack with everything that I think I might need.

My new body still feels foreign to me, but everything item of clothing stored on the shelves fits me perfectly. I check and double check, pour through books that flash 'LOCKED' when I touch them, in the hopes that maybe one of them will show me something- even a scrap of text beyond the contents pages. They don't, and I can't lug a library with me, which is a pity. The SAS Survival Handbook, Revised Edition will have to do.

There are weapons, of course there are, and the holsters and rigging I need to attach them. I could pick a sniper rifle, or a semi-automatic, or a katana, yet I gravitate towards what is simple and familiar from the tutorials. A 9mm handgun, a Bowie knife, a kukri with a longer than usual blade, a collapsible recurve bow with sight, because I remember being a semi-decent shot at summer camp and I need something long range and silent for hunting. The arrows are another thing that weigh me down and unlike the bow I can't fold them up.

Tools and provisions, ammunition and sustainable electronics, gadgets and toiletries. I swap each item out five times or more, keeping a running list of what I am taking with a screen that follows me around, down the corridors of stacked items that look like something out of The Matrix. Only there is more than just weapons here, there are bins of cereal, soil and seeds for planting, solar panels, medical kits even larger and better equipped than the one I'd already put together, enough tools to make any craftsman weep and enough petrol, propane and naphtha to set every last thing here on fire then burn the ashes.

The idea hovers tantalisingly in my mind for a long minute, but I would only come back again, likely without damaging The Computer at all. Plus it might take all my stuff as punishment. The stuff I fought and bled and died for.

I pack light high calorie food, three different water purification methods, and a special kind of tent called a portaledge you can rig in the treetops or to a cliff-face, sensible hard-wearing clothes and as many tiny nifty life saving things as I possibly can. My assumption is that I am going to be thrown into The Walking Dead universe at a time and place I am familiar with which means a Georgia climate. That being said, part of me wants to pack for a snow storm, just in case my logic gets blown out of the water. There is far too much stuff in the bag and packed on the bike to add thermals and fleeces on top of it all.

(There comes a point when you just stop caring.)

The clock keeps ticking and I keep packing and re-packing, trying on clothes and weapon rigs to test for flexibility, boots for sturdiness and shock absorption. Yet as much as I try to string it out, The Computer knows exactly when I'm ready to leave. It's at the very moment when I have way too much stuff, but there is not a single thing I can part with and a million other things I would take if I could.

YOU ARE CURENTLY [Encumbered] AND [Have No Idea What You Are Doing] YOU FEEL [Scared] AND [Hopeless].

PLEASE HAVE A PLEASANT GAMING EXPERIENCE.

"Oh, you smarmy, sarcastic son of a-!"

A.N.:

Yuuup another semi-SI with a different name that isn't my own, go figure. This story was heavily influenced by the manhwa The Gamer, the manga Re: Monster and pretty much every well written 'protagonist has video game powers' fanfiction out there. Some good ones are Off the Line by esama, Magic Online by and Survive the Red Sky by BERSER-CAR. If anyone can find me a post-apocalyptic gamer fic I'd be so very happy.

...The one thing I don't like about the gamer trope is that the protagonist becomes unkillable pretty quickly, plus the odd powers never make much of a negative impact on the world when the protagonist is the only one who has them. Like, what? No one gets jealous or scared and lashes out at the gamer character as a result of all this knowledge and power the Gamer's throwing around? Pfft.

News: I edited the first chapter of The Grey and posted it as its own story, the next instalment should be up soon. So if you like Skyrim or 'modern protagonist in medieval setting' stories go check it out!